Daggers in Plumes
by paladecki
Summary: AU, a world where angels are hunted to be kept by humans. Through one young angel, 16 year-old Dean Winchester discovers there's more to these creatures than just the Hunt.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This is my first story in quite a long time, and my first multi-chaptered fiction. This chapter is mostly set-up, but hopefully you will enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Don't own, I'm merely playing in Kripke's sandbox.

**SPN**

"What ya doing, twerp?"

Dean watched with measure of amusement as his brother instantly darted forwards, hand reaching for the remote. Nimbly, he snatched it away, twirling it between his fingers, grinning cheerfully at Sam. The returning glare could curdle milk.

"I'm trying to watch something for school, so give that back, jerk."

Dean tutted loudly and threw his gaze to the television. Some discovery channel crap was playing, a badly animated model of DNA replicating revolving slowly on screen to a droning monotone narrative.

"Sam, you know this stuff already." He could see Sam's mouth opening for an argument and continued swiftly. "I know you do, 'cause you gave Dad the whole low-down yesterday at breakfast." And Dean knew that had been because his 12 year old brother had gotten a good mark on his test. He'd be straight lying through his teeth is he said he wasn't proud of his dorky little brother but right now, DNA replication could wait.

" 'Sides, there's something much more interesting on! It's Wednesday, dude!"

"Dean!"

Dean lifted his arm high above his head, changing the channel even as Sam swiped uselessly at his brother's arm. The documentary switched out, replaced by a wide indoor arena. The open area was surrounded by a high reaching cage, closed over at the top, with huge floodlights illuminating the floor. But the bit Dean was interested in was the two opponents. One was big and burly, a smug hint to his emotionless face. The other was smaller, but lithe, and from each of their backs sprouted a pair of massive feathered wings, arching high and beautiful. The smaller one was listing heavily to one side, fingers clutching at his ribcage. Damn it! He'd missed part of it already. That's what he got for walking home with Cassie. His lips curled upwards in a smirk. Totally worth it though.

"Dean, I don't wanna watch the Fight. You know I don't like it!" Sam wailed. Let it never be said that Dean didn't love his brother, but christ, that whine could be really grating at times.

"Sam, shut up!"

Even as their squabble devolved into a scrap on the sofa, the fight onscreen was progressing in a decidedly more violent manner. The smaller angel was pinned, one wing twisted awkwardly, the narrator noting he wouldn't be winning any beauty contests soon but hey, that didn't matter much with a fighter.

"Dean, gimmie the damn remote!"

"Ow, Sam! Did you just bite me?"

Dean gained the upper hand in time to see the smaller angel someone get loose, attempting to drive his elbow into the big one's face, but he was swiftly sent sprawling with an expertly executed backhand. He didn't get back up. Dean paused his scrap with Sam to peer at the result, one hand braced against his brother's head while the other kept the remote out of reach.

"Well, damn. Uriel won again. No surprises. Dad says he's the best trained they got right now."

Suddenly, his hand slipped as Sam ducked and charged straight into his chest knocking the wind clear out of him, skinny arms flailing against Dean's own.

"Ow! You little-"

"Boys."

At the sound of that voice, deep and disapproving, both stopped their antics, untangling limbs as swiftly as possible. Dean looked sheepishly at his father, while Sam scowled at some distant point on the wall.

"Sam, behave yourself." Sam's outraged squeak was ignored and John turned his gaze on Dean. "And you, try not to antagonise your brother." He lifted an eyebrow, keeping it there until Dean muttered a quite 'Yessir.' Their father's eyes turned on Sam, and with a sharp jab of Dean's elbow as a prompt, Sam huffed a 'Yessir' of his own.

Seemingly satisfied, John bent down, hiking an oversized duffle onto his shoulders. "Bobby called. Got wind of a wild one skirting the forest up north. Maybe two."

Dean perked up instantly, leaning over the back of the couch, remote lying forgotten on the seat, which Sam took advantage of in a heartbeat. "Is it the Archangel? Did you find it again?"

The corners of his dad's mouth lifted slightly. "No, just a regular bi-colour wing. I'll be back tomorrow. Look after Sam." He turned to leave, and was halfway out the door before Dean was chasing after him.

"But, you said you'd take me on a hunt! Why not today? C'mon, Dad, I'll be 17 soon. You've been promising since I turned 16!"

John laid a hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Soon. Not today. Go keep an eye on Sammy, make sure he doesn't sabotage the nets again." The last bit was said with some amusement, but Dean wasn't laughing.

"Dad-"

"I'll see you boys tomorrow, okay?" John walked turned and headed straight for his truck, offering Dean one last look and a wave before starting up the rickety old thing and driving off down the road. Dean's shoulders slumped.

"Dean?" Sam was standing in the doorway, long floppy hair hanging over his concerned eyes.

Dean straightened his shoulders and sucked in a breath before traipsing back inside and shutting the door. "C'mon, bitch. Didn't you say you had something to do for school?"

Sam scowled, all traces of concern evaporating. "Jerk," he muttered under his breath, loud enough that Dean could hear and stomped off into the living room.

Dean sighed. Damn it, he hadn't meant to piss off Sam, but he wasn't in the mood for another 'Hunting is wrong, Dean!' argument. It was one that rang through their small household at least once a day. Sam just didn't get it. Hunting was cool. Their dad was a total pro too. He didn't even use a demon partner to sniff them out. Although, Dean knew the real reason behind that, even if Sam didn't.

John and Mary Winchester had been two of the best hunters around, along with their sniffer demon, Azazel. The Winchesters were going straight to the top, catching some of the best angel specimens around. No one had expected the faithful Azazel to turn on them. The yellow eyed bastard slaughtered Mary, and had almost gotten Sam too until their Dad interrupted. The damn demon had still managed to escape though. Dean had only been four when everything happened, when their family had been cut down and when John really threw himself into the hunting gig. Since then, the Winchesters were remembered for their tragedy, not their skill. Dean had heard people whispering about 'the poor old fool bent on revenge'. There was more money in angels than demons, but John Winchester was always on the lookout for sightings of a yellow-eyed demon prowling around, not that there ever was. It was like Azazel had simply blinked out of existence.

That was why Dean wanted in! He could help his dad. Hell, he knew how to use all the weapons to defend himself, he'd been taught by his dad for god's sake! He even knew the theory of how to catch both demons and angels. He just needed to prove that to his dad.

But at this rate, he'd never get to. No, instead he got to listen to Sam bitch about hunting and talk about rights for angels and blah, blah, blah.

Dean dragged a hand over his face, casting a look over his brother, who was perched in front of the television again, that stupid documentary back on a blaring at full volume.

"Turn it down, Sammy," he muttered, not waiting for answer before he made way to his room, and threw himself down on the bed.

**SPN**

Dean stared blankly at the wall from his desk, counting the cracks as inane chatter drifted over from the other side of the room.

"And father said he would get me a new one. It's about time; the old one is starting to look really rough around the edges."

Dean rolled his eyes, turning to face the culprit with a flat look. "Bela, you only got that one last year. They do live longer than a bee, you know. Surprisingly."

The girl pushed her hair over her shoulder, shooting Dean the filthiest glare she could managed. "Obviously, Winchester. But when you're showing angels, only the best of the best will do. Anael is pretty, I suppose, but she's terribly common."

Dean frowned. He'd seen Bela's angel before. Pretty was one hell of an understatement. She had long thick red hair and soft white wings dappled with gentle reds and browns. A real nice example of a tri-colour wing. She wasn't one his dad had caught though. Dean never would've let him sell anything to the Talbots. "So, you're ditching her. For what?"

Bela smirked, hands on her hips as she strutted towards him, leaning down to murmur into Dean's ear. "Father says Gordon's on the trail of an Archangel." She stood up straight, lips pulled in a self-satisfied smirk. "What do you make of that?"

"Wowee, good for Gordon", he said, in the most bored voice he could muster, rolling his eyes. Even as he turned away, Dean could feel the panic rising. An Archangel? Couldn't be the one that his dad had been chasing, could it? If Gordon caught one, they were finished. A lot of people didn't want angels caught without demons, said they had behavioural problems. It was a load of crap. If anything they were calmer, no stupid black eyed bastards nipping at their heels every five seconds.

"Oh, Deanie, are we jealous? Your father couldn't catch an Archangel if it stood in front of him with all six wings clipped." Bela's accented voice was already starting to piss him off, but no one insulted his dad. No one. Dean whipped around, lips pulled back in a snarl.

And the bell rang.

Damn it. Dean forced himself to turn away from her smug face, hands gripping the edge of his desk as her shrill laugh echoed behind him. After class, she was getting it.

**SPN**

Bela didn't get anything after class. She'd skipped out before the rush and Dean lost the bitch in the crowds. To hell with it, what did she know! His dad was the best hunter, screw Gordon or any of those other losers.

Dean loped down the steps of the school, waiting for Sam to turn up. The kid could probably walk home on his own, he sure made enough noise about being escorted, but Dean had been put in charge and like hell was he gonna let Sammy out of his sight while John was gone.

"Hey, bitch," He called fondly as the familiar mop of brown hair surfaced. Sam met him with a 'Shut up, jerk' and they strolled home at a lazy pace, teasing banter starting up immediately. Dean poked fun at Sam's hair, Sam called Dean a horn-dog and everything was good between them again.

That was until they reached their house and saw their dad's truck, accompanied by the big trailer Caleb owned, which meant one thing.

"They made a catch!" Even as he said it, Dean could feel Sam's good mood slip away.

"I'm gonna go do my homework," Sam muttered quietly, moving towards the front door. But before Sam had even taken a step, Caleb's head popped out from behind the trailer, grinning widely.

"Hey, boys! How 'bout you come look at this fella. He's a good one! Pretty, but a bit snappy so don't get too close, ya hear?"

Dean pulled Sam's dead weight alongside him, coming round to stand by Caleb at the back of the trailer. And, wow. They weren't kidding.

Tall and muscular, with sandy blonde hair and a matching scruff around the face. Some people did like the rough look. Blue eyes regarded them with a look of utter disgust, layered with an anger he was familiar with by now. But the wings, now they were special. Even folded, they were massive, rising past the angel's shoulders. They were a dark brown, but the larger flight feathers were a glittering gold, the same golden hue spread in flecks across the entire wing. Dean whistled loudly in awe, and the angel ruffled his wings, angling them out of Dean's view as much a possible.

"Almost got away from us, he's clever," came John's voice from behind. "Sedate him before we transfer to the coop, Caleb. We don't want to risk him getting away. Again."

"Aye, aye, cap'n." Caleb tapped his forehead with two fingers.

Sam was staring at the angel, and Dean knew that look. This wasn't going to end well when Sam finally found his voice.

"You get a name, Dad?" He questioned, trying to distract himself from the emotions pouring off his little brother.

"Not yet. The most he's said is 'piss off' and 'bastards'. The usual stuff. We'll get him to tell us, or else we'll give him one. They don't like that." Dean could almost swear he saw the angel roll his eyes at that. "Now, you two, inside. We want this transfer clean, no hiccups."

His dad gave him a pointed look, eyes darting to Sam and back again. Dean nodded, gently threading his fingers around Sam's wrist. No hiccups, right. In other words, he didn't want a fight during something as delicate as transfer. "C'mon, Sammy. Homework, remember?" For once, his brother didn't argue, following quietly behind Dean into the house. Dean shut the door, and thanked every deity that ever existed ever for the miracle of a quiet Sam in the face of a successful angel hunt.

"I hate it, Dean." Damn it. He took those thanks back, deities sucked ass.

"I know, Sam."

"It's just- It's not fair, it's not right! They're intelligent, not dumb animals for us to play around with!"

"Sam. I know you hate it, okay? I get it. But this is Dad's job, He's good at it, it keeps a roof over our heads and I'll be damn appreciative of that."

Sam's face crossed over from angry to furious. "Oh yeah, I'm real appreciative that putting intelligent beings into slavery keeps us comfy, because that's all that matters, isn't it!"

Dean whipped around, fists balled tight. "Damn it, Sam, it is all that matters! Family, remember? Dad's keeping us safe and fed so shut up! Just shut up!" His anger ebbed away slowly as Sam's expression registered in his mind. Wide eyes, like he couldn't quite believe Dean had just let loose on him. Crap, crap,_ crap._ "Sam."

"You're just like him, you know that? You're just as bad as he is." Sam's wavering voice quieted abruptly and Dean could only watch as he trudged down the hall, slamming his door.

Just like he'd expected. It never ended well. At least it hadn't been Sam vs. Dad. Those fights kept the whole neighbourhood awake. But that thought didn't do much to quell the guilt squirming in his stomach.

"Damn it."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thanks for the couple of reviews! Yes, Castiel will be appearing soon and no, the angel caught last chapter was _not_ Lucifer. But he is one you know. Also, this story is entirely for fun, and practice. I don't pretend to be a very good writer, but I'm giving it my best shot.

Also, chapter 1 has been revised a little. Just FYI!

**Diclaimer:** Don't own, I'm merely playing in Kripke's sandbox

**SPN**

Dean tapped out the beat of one of his favourite Led Zepplin songs against the kitchen table, anything to keep his brain occupied and stop him from charging after Sam. It wasn't totally his fault after all. Sam had started it all. Dean repeated that over and over to the rhythm. He figured if he kept at it, eventually he might start believing it.

A loud thump made the teen jump out of his reverie, eyes darting to the duffle bag now sitting pretty on the table. His father was looking at him, eyebrows raised.

"Sam's pissed," Dean said simply. John sighed, dropping the duffle to the ground unceremoniously.

"Transfer went good. Had to dose the bird with extra, he almost took off Caleb's damn head with those wings. He's quick, might be good for fighting. Still no name though." Dean nodded along to his dad's words, eyes following John's path to the fridge. Stop number one post-hunt; food. He knew this whole chat was a distraction technique, probably a little more effective than Dean's attempt.

"So, there was only one then?"

John paused mid-rummage of the fridge, one hand on what Dean thought was yesterday's Chinese leftovers. It had either been take out or Lucky Charms. Sam hadn't been too happy with the choices. Kid preferred rabbit food, for reasons Dean would never understand.

"No, there was two of them. Blondie out there had a little friend, solid colour wing. Maybe black, could'a been dark brown for all I know. Lost him in the trees after we pulled Big Bird, fast son of a bitch."

Dean perked up, his interest piqued. A plan hatched in his mind. _This_ was his chance! "You going back for him? Soon?"

His dad straightened up, watching Dean cautiously. Dean tried to keep his expression neutral, but he saw the exasperation break on his father's face and oops, rumbled.

"Dean, we talked about this-"

"No, we didn't! You talked, I had to listen. Dad, c'mon. I swear, I won't get in the way or anything. Just gimmie a chance. Sam can stay at Ellen's for one day. Him and Jo can braid each other's hair or something. C'mon, _please_!" He was no master of puppy eyes, but Dean gave it his all, staring imploringly at his father.

"No, Dean. Not yet." He held up a hand, silencing Dean's cries of indignation. "I know you want to start hunting, I get that. I taught you how to use the weapons, and I'll teach you how to hunt. But not yet. I need you here, keeping an eye on Sammy when I'm gone."

"But-"

"The answer is no, Dean. Accept it." That tone meant no more arguments, and like the good little soldier he was, he stopped arguing.

"Yes, sir." Dean shut his mouth, lips drawn in a tight line and fists balled in his lap.

John patted him gently on the back, the apology unspoken but present as he left his eldest to his thoughts.

**SPN**

It really wasn't fair. Not even in the slightest.

Lying on his bed, Dean pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Saying dinner had been tense was a total understatement. His dad had been trying to avoid talking about anything more than the pizza on the table, Dean had tried desperately to coax his dad into the wanted topic and Sam refused to talk to either of them. Eventually, Dean had given up and retreated to the Impala, which he'd been given as a 16th (his dad decided a truck was more practical, and besides, Dean fawned over her night and day). He found some joy in giving her a nice polish. Nothing cheered him up quite like Baby, all smooth, sleek lines and gleaming black paint.

But there was only so much to do to a car in pretty spotless condition, and so Dean was back in his room, listening to a muffled phone call his dad was having in the living room. Okay, so maybe he couldn't make out the words but it was either that or actually do his homework, and like hell was he going to do that before he absolutely had to.

He clicked his tongue, absently wondering if playing Metallica at full volume would tick off the neighbours when a faint _tap-tap _noise sounded from somewhere just beyond his wall. Dean sat upright, pressing his ear against the wall as the noise repeated. Dean grinned. Tap code. Both of them knew morse code, thanks to their dad, and tap code was a cruder version. Easy as pie. The most annoying bit was how damn long it took to reply, abbreviations were practically staple.

Dean waited for Sam to stop before tapping a reply.

_Sam._

_SRY._

_Y?_

_Pissed U off._

_N, UR GD. SRY earlier. _

_UR GD. _

_GN, Sam._

_GN, Dean._

Dean grinned to himself, partly because Sam had finally given in and initiated a truce, but mostly because it meant they weren't going to be snapping at each other all damn day. The squirming guilt in his stomach was subsiding, now he could focus entirely on trying to get his dad to take him hunting. Though that was going to be harder than it sounded. Short of catching an angel himself and dropping it at his dad's feet, he had no idea how to pull this off.

Wait.

Dean's eyes widened. He could just catch a damn angel. Then his dad wouldn't be able to say no. Hell, they had the equipment. He had the know-how. He even knew where there was an angel lurking about. He could totally pull this off!

Dean leaned over to check the clock. 22:43 blinked back in thick red lines. He pressed his ear against the wall between him and Sam and tapped out his brother's name. He held his breath. _Please be asleep, please be asleep._ No reply came, his luck was in! He checked again, just to be sure, before crawling off his bed and slipping his shoes and jacket on. Sneaking past his dad would be the trick, especially borrowing the equipment from the truck.

Dean slipped out of his room, tip-toeing down the hallway. He paused before the living room, casting a quick eye inside.

And there was his dad, an empty tumbler in one hand, the other still wrapped around the phone. Dean could feel a stupidly large grin splitting his face, before darting into the kitchen and snatching the truck keys off the table.

Time to catch himself an angel.

**SPN**

The Impala rumbled to a gentle stop on the dirt road that skirted the edges of the forest. Dean peered out the window, taking in the surroundings. It wasn't the first time he'd been up here, but that had been during the day. Night was another story. The trees made a dark, looming mass, stretching for miles in every direction. At least it was clear, a full moon gleaming from its' seat in the sky.

"No backing out now," he muttered to himself, getting out of the Impala and retrieving the equipment from the backseat. He patted her on the bonnet and, with a deep breath, strode purposely into the shadows.

**SPN**

He walked, bag weighing heavily on his shoulders, until his legs started to ache. Maybe this had been a _bit_ reckless. He wasn't actually sure how to track an angel at night. Marks on the trees, branches cut away by wings, hell, even footprints were obscured. It was hard to tell what was what, and now the stupid moonlight was obscured by the canopy above. Dean cursed under his breath, dropping the bag a rummaging for a torch. That was when he heard it.

A quiet rustle, off to his left.

Any untrained idiot would assume it was the wind, but Dean was anything but. The night was still, there was no wind, which meant one thing. He was being watched.

He dug out the torch, pretending to check it. On-off, on-off, on-off. The rustling started up again, moving closer. Dean tried to keep his breathing even, not easy because he was starting to realise how dumb this plan had been. These things could be dangerous, that was why John Winchester went with a group, never on his own. What the _hell_ had he been thinking? Screw it, he couldn't back out now.

Dean whistled softly to himself, his empty hand sliding into the bag. His fingers curled around his dad's bola gun. The noises shifted closer still, Dean could almost swear it was breathing down his neck.

It was now or never.

Without hesitation, he turned sharply with a shout, swinging the torch around. For a heartbeat, the light skimmed across a pale face before a shriek burst forth and the trees were near torn apart as the angel tried to flee. Ears ringing, he charged after the shape crashing through the branches. There was no room for a proper take-off but _damn_, the little bastard was fast. Any second now, it'd find the space to really kick off and then Dean was screwed. He just needed a clear shot. Just one shot.

The trees peeled away, opening into a clearing and Dean could see glossy dark wings spread wide above him. _Shit, shit shit, you are not getting away from me! _Dean dropped to one knee, bracing the bola gun against his arm and aimed. The angel rose up with a powerful beat of its' wings, jet black feathers gleaming in the moonlight.

Dean waited, heart hammering in his chest as the wings pulled down.

_Now._

He fired, and the bola tore through the sky.

Dean's aim wasn't as good as he liked to think, but it was true. One ball crashed into the right wing, the second wrapping itself around the torso and left wing joint. The angel's cry rang out as it fell from the sky, too high, too big a fall with too much weight.

"No!" Dean clutched at his hair in panic. He needed it to be alive. His dad would never let him hunt again if he screwed this up. Dean slapped himself across the face.

"Calm down, you stupid sonuvabitch!" He needed to check. Maybe it was okay. Dean pelted through the forest, following a trail of broken branches, murmuring a mantra of _please, don't be dead, ya dumb bird_.

He halted sharply, just stopping without tripping over what looked like a snapped young tree. Dean swallowed, stepping lightly over the debris. He glanced down. Skid marks in the dirt. A mark, a gap, a mark, a gap; like a stone skipping the water. Then he saw the stone.

The torchlight tracked over the prone creature as Dean approached cautiously. But it wasn't moving. Hell, it didn't even look like it was breathing. The bola had managed to trap the right arm awkwardly under the battered right wing. Raised red welts lay across the back where the bola's cord had wound itself, along with a nasty, rounded bruise forming on the left shoulder.

Dean bit his lip, and prodded the angel with his foot. It was worth a shot. But it simply rocked with the movement, falling still within seconds.

"Damn it. _Damn it._" Well, that was that. He could kiss hunting goodbye. Couldn't even catch a small one without killing it. Just his damn luck.

"Stupid oversized bird," He muttered. The angel simply growled in reply.

Wait.

It _growled_? Dean leant over the angel and sure enough, its' chest was rising and falling rhythmically. Sneaky bastard had been holding his breath! The pale face under a mop of dark hair was scrunched up in what he assumed was pain, considering the mangled wings. Dean breathed a breath of relief. So, his quarry was alive.

Except now he had no idea what to do. He hadn't even considered transport. The Impala wasn't big enough to carry it. Well, fuck. Dean dragged a hand across his face. He couldn't leave it here, not after what he'd done to it. In this state, it wasn't going to last a week. And that was being optimistic!

"Okay, just...sit still." Dean pulled out his hunting knife and sliced through the cords, the heavy weighted ends of the bola falling away with dull thuds. The angel didn't even twitch. Dean's hand hovered over the right wing. It looked dislocated at the least. He was no expert in wings but maybe if he could just feel it...

His fingers barely grazed the wing before he found himself sprawled on his back in the dirt, a slim hand wrapped around his throat and one extremely pissed off angel glaring down with the brightest blue, pain-riddled eyes.

This was it then. He was going to die here, alone. Dean closed his eyes, braced himself and waited. And waited. And waited some more before tentatively opening one eye. The angel, still braced above him, was breathing heavily. It's, no, _his_ eyes were tightly shut, face contorted in agony. Dean swallowed, easy now that the grip at his throat had gone slack.

"H-hey," he started softly, if shakily. The angel's blue eyes were open again, watching warily as Dean lifted his hand. "I can- I can help. With your wings." He extended his arm just a little, and apparently that was just too close. The angel gave a sharp screech and bolted away from him, wings beating uselessly as it tried to take off. He rose up and fell twice, disappearing into the darkness of the woods.

Dean watched him go, stunned. His heart felt like a jackhammer beating at his ribs. He'd never gotten _that_ close to an angel.

Despite the faint tremble in his legs, Dean stood up, tempted to chase him down again. But his watch was reading 02:19 and he was already pushing his luck.

He gazed out at the horizon, and turned to backtrack and get his dad's stuff. Everything needed to be back in its' place. Tomorrow was Friday anyway, he could come back.

He would come back.


End file.
